Of Dwarves and Witches
by AgainstTheMotion
Summary: She's a long way from home, but trouble always has a way of finding her no matter the situation. Only this time, it comes in the form of a ragged old man in faded grey robes. It only gets more complicated from there. Thorin/Fem!Harry.
1. An Unforeseen Arrival

**Title: Of Dwarves and Witches**

 **Summary: She's a long way from home, but trouble always has a way of finding her no matter the situation. Only this time, it comes in the form of a ragged old man in faded grey robes. It only gets more complicated from there. Thorin/Fem!Harry.**

 **Disclaimer: Unfortunately I own neither The Hobbit or Harry Potter.**

 **Warning: Creative license will be abused. Heavily.**

 **Before I forget to mention, it has been awhile since I have read the books (but I plan to re-read them very soon), so there will most likely be mistakes (both grammatically and cannon), but I have researched extensively before I even begun to dig deeper into my plot. However, I am also not perfect, so you should expect mistakes (feel free to correct me, it would definitely help).**

 **ALSO! This beginning chapter was never meant to happen. The beginning chapter was set upon her awakening in middle-earth, but I changed it up, and it will be explained further along the way (I have left hints throughout this chapter as to what Harry was up to before ending up where she is, so I wonder if anyone can figure it out?). I also hope the length of the chapter is adequate because if it's one thing I hate, is small chapters. And though I feel a bit iffy about certain parts in this chapter, I am pleased how it came together, and I hope, to whomever is reading, that you enjoy it. So feel free to review, fave or follow.**

 **Oh! Wait, one more thing. I will not be rushing this story, and the quest for Erebor will not happen for some time. I have things planned out, with character development and friendships. I want to actually write it out, not just have it there.**

 **I'll stop rambling now...**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 ** _Chapter 1._**

* * *

Harry Potter had been in many... _precarious_ situations before, and often found herself in the middle of some unusual problem – however, that being said, Harry is certain she has never been spirited away to some foreign land before. And while usually that might surprise her, at this point she was beyond caring and feeling more downtrodden than curious. Not even the echo of her previous panic could do much to stir her out of her own depression. So it would be safe to assume that Harry potter is, utterly and completely, fed up.

It did not help that she was in desperate need of a bath. Muck and grime had knotted itself into her hair, and her clothing, at this point, was nothing more than a hanging, limp piece cloth with various rips, tears and singes. It rubbed against her skin in the most uncomfortable way, and she could feel the slight crusting of blood as it began to peel away from her torso.

Yes, she concluded, from the way the people had begun to stop and stare, she must look hideous. Covered in muck, blood and sweat. But that wasn't what bothered her the most.

It was the scent of ash clung to her, leaving a bitter taste on her tongue and reminding her of the events that lead her this small village – which, at this point, did not feel worth it. If it wasn't for the small coin purse she had managed to pilfer along the way, she doubted they would have been so accommodating. Though, she used the word loosely.

Harry is used to the judgmental looks, the weary whispers and speculations. More than a few handful of people had attempted to draw her into conversation, not so subtly asking as to why she looked the way she did. Of course, a few well-placed glares and biting remarks got them off her back, though it did nothing to endear the gathering crowd that had begun to accumulate.

Oh, how she wished she could hex them, but alas, Harry wasn't quite so nasty to stoop that low. It wouldn't have worked either way, however, much to her ire.

Dismissing her spiraling thoughts, Harry curled bruised and dirt riddled hands around the tankard, lazily watching the contents inside slosh around as foam gathered at the top. She wasn't much of a drinker, but if it helped sooth her aching joints and battered body, she would have happily made her way through a box of Fire Whisky – sadly, no such thing existed here.

Grimacing darkly, she lifted the cup to her chapped lips and drunk deeply, ignoring the sour aftertaste.

Some part of her whispered at the back of her mind. _It could be worse_ , it called, _we're alive_. _Better us than_ –

She slammed the tankard back down onto the table, causing a brief hush to fall over the dingy pub she had found her way to. All eyes fell on her form, and she venomously ignored it. She felt the prickling gather in the corner of her eyes, and she blinked away the feeling, clenching her jaw shut angrily. She had no reason to cry, and she refused to be reduced to tears after the ordeal she had went through just to make it to this village.

No, none of it was her fault. It wasn't her fault she was here, stuck in some foreign land with little to no knowledge of how to get back, and it certainly wasn't her fault that –

She breathed in sharply, attempting to clear her head and push the memory away. After a few moments, her efforts were rewarded and she felt the gentle embrace of calmness take her mind, her occlumency shields proving their worth. Harry continued to breathe in and out at a steady pace, only stopping occasionally to sip at her ale.

For now, she had to plan out what she would do next, and where she would go. Seeing how she had no knowledge of the place she had ended up, finding a map would be ideal. But that could wait until morning, she would rather not take her chances out in the wilderness, and in pitch black to boot. The nights here are darker, she vaguely thought, sloshing the remainder of her ale around in the tankard. She would need a refill soon.

She wondered what time it was. Past midnight? It was entirely possible. It had been dark for some time now, and it didn't look like the sun would be rising any time soon. Perhaps she should ask for a room for the night? And maybe a bath. Harry winced. Yes, definitely in need of a bath. And some clothing. Which would have to wait until morning...

Her scowl returned and she downed the rest of her drink, preparing to call over the barmaid, before a voice suddenly stopped her.

"Ah, there you are!"

Bewildered, and slightly startled, Harry jerked back when a shadow fell over her table. She felt herself tense up, her adrenaline spiking in preparation to flee. Only, she wasn't met with distorted and mutated features of scarred flesh and slanted eyes and hissing teeth, but rather, a tall and aged man in grey robes with a familiar pointed hat and kindly smile.

Her mouth popped open, but words faltered on her tongue, and the only sound that escaped her was a slight croak.

"My dear, I have been looking for you for some time. It would appear fortunate that we are to turn up in the same village on the same day, wouldn't you say?"

She didn't reply and he flagged down the barmaid, quickly placing an order with a few muttered words. It didn't register with Harry and she could only watch on in numb awareness, her eyes fixated on the hat atop his head. Despite the familiarity, all it offered was a cold comfort. It didn't help that he resembled her old headmaster, dredging up forgotten grief and loss.

The old man then turned back to Harry, smile still in place and eyes twinkling. She swallowed thickly, remembering half-moon spectacles and maroon robes. He wasted no time in taking up the empty space at her side, getting himself comfortable as he pulled a pipe out from beneath his robes and proceeded to light it with the tip of his finger.

Harry's nostrils flared at the motion, her eyes widening.

When it became evident that he wasn't going to say anything, content to puff away at his pipe and absorb the warmth from the lit hearth, Harry found herself shifting uncomfortably, uncertain of his intentions but curious to find out. She roughly cleared her throat.

"Have we met?" She asked, voice rough and scratchy despite her best efforts to conceal it.

"Hm, no, we most certainly have not." mused the man, blowing out a perfect ring of smoke.

It really didn't tell her anything, but before she could open her mouth to enquire further, the barmaid returned with nervous steps, hedging around the table and further away from Harry to place two plates down and two tankards. Without so much as a 'good evening' the woman scurried back off, taking Harry's empty cup with her.

"Ah, yes – before we continue, I should say, introductions are in order." The man suddenly admonished, sitting up fully to turn to Harry. "My name is Gandalf the grey, I don't suppose you have heard of me before?"

With pursed lips, she shook her head, determined to see this strange encounter through. "I'm afraid not," she paused before continuing "Harry Potter...that's me." She finished lamely, cringing internally.

"Well that's quite all right, and it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He gestured kindly with a nod of his head. "For now, why don't we enjoy a small meal before we continue?"

Gandalf – a strange name, but Harry had heard stranger – pushed a plate in her direction. It was by no means up to the same standard in which she was used to, but she had eaten and lived off of smaller rations in the past. A measly slab of bread, a handful of grapes and a slide of cheese. Her stomach automatically let out a small grumble, and for the first time that day, Harry realized how starved she had become.

Her cheeks heated as her gaze snapped to Gandalf. "But I haven't paid for this."

"There's no need for your worries. I suspect you need this more than myself." He quirked a thick brow, as if daring her to protest and Harry found her jaw snapping shut almost instantly, chagrined.

Finally, he placed the extra tankard beside the plate he offered, and by the look of the contents inside, it was another cup of ale.

He gestured with his hand for her to begin and Harry hesitated only for a moment, before deciding it was in her best interest to sate her aching hunger. She didn't really taste anything as she began to devour the small meal, but maybe that was because of how fast she was eating. But from what she could taste, it was stale and flavorless, the grapes a bit too soft and the cheese a bit too hard. The bread felt like she could crack open skulls with it. But it did its job and it got rid of the emptiness in her stomach, leaving her strangely full.

By the time she was done, only crumbs remained and a half cup of ale. She sighed contently, wiping the corner of her mouth.

Gandalf was still puffing away, his food only half eaten and his ale untouched. She decided not to question it.

"Thank you," she said, gratitude evident in her voice "You didn't have to do that."

Gandalf tipped his hat. "You're welcome, my dear."

"But Sir, I have to ask, why would you help me? I'm not exactly... _approachable_." She scowled, having briefly forgotten about her monstrous appearance.

"Why, for the same reason you helped those dwarves," Harry stiffened, but Gandalf paid it no mind "Because I knew I could, and because I wanted to."

A cold sweat gathered on her brow, and she shivered, blowing out a shaky breath as the prickling sensation gathered behind her eyes once again. "How do you know about that?"

"Dear girl, there's not much that happens in middle-earth that escapes my notice. Especially not with the way you barreled into that mountain. Word travels fast." He eyed her contemplatively, and Harry refused to meet his gaze. When he spoke again, it was much softer, causing more moisture to mist over her eyes. "What you did was a very brave thing, and there are many who are alive today because of that, and many more who are thankful. You should feel proud."

Silence descended over the two, though Harry suspected that Gandalf was giving her a moment to gather herself. A part of her was grateful, another part was furious. And while the occlumency shields held the memories at bay, it didn't truly stop how she felt. All she could do was try not to think about it, but it didn't help when someone brought it up. She was only so lucky that no one in the village had been gossiping about the recent... _event_. What she hadn't counted on was for news to travel so fast and so far in such a small span of time.

How he even figured out it was her, let alone found the means to track her down, remained a mystery. All she could do was accept these facts, even if she didn't like it.

Eventually, after several minutes of deep and steady breaths, her heart began to slow down from its erratic beating and settle into an even pace and the stress and stiffness of her muscles began to recede, though not completely.

A handle settled on her shoulder, and Harry forced herself not to react as the hand squeezed gently before letting go. It was supposed to be comforting, and it did little to console her.

She licked her lips. "Why were you looking for me?" She decided to ask, cutting straight to the point and hoping to hedge around the obvious.

Gandalf hummed nonsensically, puffing on his pipe a few times before answering. "I am here to act as your guide, for the time being, of course."

Harry frowned. "I don't understand."

"The Valar have chosen you to come to middle-earth, it is only simple that it would be myself or one of the other Istari to guide your steps while you grow to understand this world." Gandalf cut Harry off as she began to speak "Yes, I am aware of your ah, sudden appearance, so to speak. And while I may not have all the answers, I hope that I can ease some of your worries."

"That doesn't ease me at all. Why am I even here?" Frustrated, Harry tugged at her knotted hair, wincing only when she accidently pulled at one of her cuts. "I never asked for any of this. I don't know where I am, how I ended up here or even who these Istari are."

"All these questions will be answered in time, my dear, have patience." Comforted Gandalf "The Istari, however, I can answer. In short, we are the guardians of middle-earth, consisting of five wizards in total. The leader of our order is Saruman The White, then there is myself, followed by Radagast The Brown and..." He frowned, humming a small thoughtful tune "I'm afraid I can't quite remember the last two, it has been some time since I last encountered them."

"Only five wizards?" Harry found herself replying, voice weak and not quite believing.

"Indeed."

"But what would you want with me? I'm just..."

"Just what, my dear?"

Harry shrunk in on herself, pulling her injured limbs to her chest. She didn't know what to say, because Harry was many things and has been called many things. She liked to think of herself as ' _just Harry_ ' but something that didn't quite cut it. She was a leader, a friend, a daughter and a war hero. However, it was hollow, never quite registering that this is who she has become. She knows she has earned these titles, despite her initial feelings toward it.

But sometimes it doesn't feel real. And sometimes it leaves her feeling vulnerable, as if she wasn't quite good enough. That she could be and do better.

She's not the answer to every problem and she certainly cannot fight every battle. Recent events proved as much.

"I'm just me." She finished meekly, shoulders hunched and head downturned.

"And that should be all you ever need to be." Concluded Gandalf, before wisely adding "Pretending to be something else can become quite tiresome, and never ends with good results."

Harry found her lips curling into a smile, despite herself. "I suppose you're right."

"There is no suppose about it." Lightly chided Gandalf.

Silence descended upon them once again, though it didn't feel as strained as before. The din of the pub just barely connected to Harry, it was nothing more than a buzz in the background, helping to ease her into a far more relaxed state. It was safe, a familiar setting and there looked to be no danger hiding in the shadows. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine she was at Hogsmeade, sitting inside The Three Broomsticks and nursing a butterbeer while her friends chattered on around her.

A pang of loneliness hit her, and she wondered if her friends have realized she was missing. She wondered if they were out there right now, looking for her. Harry wondered if they noticed at all.

She snapped herself out of it. Of course they would have noticed, there was no 'ifs' about it. But that brought up a very important detail that Harry had been hoping to avoid, and if Gandalf is who he says he is, then it might be possible that he could help, or at least enlighten her on her problem.

So despite her reservations, she managed to squish down her pride and ask for help.

"You...said you were a wizard?" She hedged uncomfortably, continuing when he bobbed his head in conformation. "Do you know how I can get home?"

Gandalf shifted in his seat, his face morphing from a kind expression and into something more serious. "I don't think you were listening, my dear, I have been appointed as your guide in middle-earth. If there is a way to send you back, unfortunately I am not the wizard you are looking for. I do not have that power."

Dread settled into her stomach. "But you don't understand, my magic..." She choked out, feeling vulnerable once again "It's important that I get to St Mungo's as soon as possible, I fear that I may..." Harry trailed off, her face scrunching as though she were in pain.

"Ah, yes, I wondered when you would bring that up." Sighed Gandalf, startling Harry "You are not losing your abilities, I can confirm. It is merely adjusting to the sudden change. It will, however, take some time before you're back up to scratch."

She relaxed slightly, allowing his words to sooth her worries. But she still wasn't convinced. "But what about my wand? When I used it..." She bit her lip, forcing herself to calm down when her panic began to build.

"Yes?" Gandalf pressed, leaning forward.

"It...it was destroyed. When I used it, _back there_ , it just – just exploded and I..." she swallowed thickly, "I couldn't do anything."

"You did enough." Harry flinched, but he forged on "The simple answer to your problem would be that your wand wasn't strong enough to filter your magic at a steady pace – you could even say it overheated. What you have been taught and learned, you will soon find, isn't how it works in these lands and may very well seem backwards to what you know."

She nodded hesitantly, not quite following but allowing it to slowly sink in. "But what about returning home? Is there a way?"

"If there is a way, then I am certain it will reveal itself in time and with patience. Nothing is done without reason."

"But how long will that take?" She impatiently asked, hand reaching out to pick up her tankard before taking a sip. "Weeks? Months? Years? How do I know I won't be old and withering by the time I return? Will I ever return?"

Gandalf puffed once on his pipe, slow and contemplative. He didn't leave her waiting long, but enough to have her squirming in her seat. "That remains to be seen."

Her face dropped and she tried not to glare, feeling bitter and a little bit more than hopeless. "Then what am I to do? Sit around and twiddle my thumbs?"

"No," corrected Gandalf "In the meantime, you will accompany me to Imladris – or more commonly known as Rivendell – where we will meet with the White Council and from there, well, we will see."

"White Council?" Dully echoed Harry.

"Indeed," Hummed Gandalf, though he didn't elaborate and decided to change the subject instead. "Though for the moment being, I think it high time we get you cleaned up and your wounds dressed."

He gave her a meaningful look, and Harry felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. Yes, she knew she smelled worse than a troll and probably looked no better, and it did nothing for herself esteem. Muttering quietly, she directed her attention down at the table. "I don't know where I can bathe, and I don't fancy my chances of finding a stream nearby."

"Not to worry, I have already taken care to order you a bath and a change of clothes."

She cringed, not wanting to accept any more charity yet feeling as if she had no other choice. "I...no, thank you. Really," Turning her gaze back up to the wizard, hoping to show an expression of gratitude "You have been nothing but kind, so, thank you."

Gandalf didn't reply. Instead, he smiled and the warmth he showed was answer enough.


	2. Our Journey Begins

**Chapter two is complete! I would like to thank the lovely people who reviewed and followed, I honest didn't expect anyone to do either. But it was lovely to see nonetheless!**

 _ **Hellfire45**_ **: Unfortunately, I won't be changing Harry's name to make it more feminine. I'm sorry if this upsets you, but I'm sticking with 'Harry'.**

 **A few other reviewers have very accurate guesses, however something very specific also happened which will not be mentioned just yet – that will be uncovered in later chapters, and I really don't want to spoil anything.**

 **But, about this story? I have so many big plans for it, I'm not even kidding. I've fleshed out some of the surprises, and I don't doubt there will be plenty more to follow. I don't want to ruin anything so I'm going to stop here, but I'm am so pumped for this!**

 **Anyway, remember when I said I said about creative license being abused? You may spot it a few times in this chapter. But for now, I'm going to shut up.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Chapter 2._

* * *

Harry did not recognise herself.

Sat before the vanity, bandages and ointments strewn across the wooden surface, Harry wore a mournful expression. Gandalf had been kind enough to rent out a room and had left briefly to deal with a few things while a large basin had been brought up for her to bathe in. The owner of the inn had been weary, seemingly distrustful of Harry, but didn't question her – it helped that Gandalf had shoved a small coin purse under his nose, and the owner was quick to see to her needs, offering spare bandages and healing ointments, as well as a fresh set of clothes.

It didn't shine in comparison to magical remedies. It stung and nipped at her cuts, though it eventually settled and left a cool numbing sensation behind.

But that wasn't really a problem. It was her appearance. Gone was the grime, crusted blood and ash that had clung to her form, leaving behind bruised flesh and various cuts that lined her exposed body. Her right eye was blackened, and her temple had turned a sickly yellow that faded off under her hair, somehow effectively hiding her lightning bolt scar. Smaller bruises dotted her face, one notable bruise on the left corner of her jaw, already a deep purple and expanding up the side of her cheek and slightly swollen.

The rest of her body was in no better shape. Nicks and cuts marred together with various shades of bruises, some more prominent than others. Her hands especially, knuckles bruised and flesh broken and the palm of her right hand had been angrily burnt due to her wand exploding. Harry hadn't even noticed, too busy stuck on her own survival to even feel the pain that had been inflicted upon her and now that she had been calmed down, fed and cleaned, she felt every single one of her cuts and bruises, as well as the fatigue she now suffered.

Her joints shook and her muscles ached, the lids of her eyes heavy with the need of sleep. But she remained awake, despite this, silently mourning what seemed to be the greatest of her problems.

Her hair.

No longer did it fall down to her hips, thick and full and a little bit wild with licks and curls. Instead it had been sheared off, slightly singed and looking asymmetrical and lopsided. Throughout her journey through these strange lands, she hadn't known or cared to check, only focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and simply moving. And now, looking at herself through the mirror, she did not recognize herself through the damage she received nor the hair she had known and loved and lost.

It felt wrong.

Her hair now fell to just below her shoulders, flat and straight, lacking its previous wild and self-willed nature. She sniffled, freshly bandaged fingers reaching up to touch the crudely cut hair, allowing the strands to roll between the pads of her fingers. It would take time for it to grow out again – though she prayed her magic might fix the problem for her. It has in the past, when her Aunt Petunia had shaved her head. One day she was bald and the next she had a full head of hair.

Perhaps it would be the same this time.

Letting go of her hair, she reached down for the healing paste to start applying it to her untreated wounds. With gentle strokes, ignoring the sharp pain she received from her injuries, and massaged the paste onto the angry cuts up her arms. She bit down on her inner cheek when she came to a particularly large cut near the crook of her elbow, taking care to dab at it gingerly before grabbing a clean cut of the bandage roll and began to wrap it up as securely as she could.

Harry had never been good at this, unfortunately. It had been Madam Pomfrey that always managed put her back together in one piece. She doubted she would ever make a good healer, and more than once she wished she had more than basic knowledge when it came to dressing minor wounds. Harry was only so lucky she hadn't broken any bones this time around.

Once she was done wrapping up the worst of the injuries on her arms, Harry stood and pulled up the spare, simple grey tunic she had been given – silently thanking Gandalf for his quick thinking and managing to secure her a change of clothing – and began to examine her ribs. Though the area wasn't as damaged as the rest of her body, it still had some light bruising, a light yellow in color that would no doubt be gone in a few days.

Harry turned around to examine her back, and automatically cringed at the sight. A vicious, large bruise took up most of her lower back, dark purple and fading out lighter around the edges. She prodded it gently, hissing when a sharp sting shot up her back. Glowering at the mark, she quickly realized she was going to struggle to sleep in the coming days.

With steady fingers, Harry reached down for the healing paste and began to apply it, relaxing slightly when it began to numb the wounded area. Yes, not as good as magical remedies, but it was manageable.

It took her a little while longer to treat the rest of her injuries, moving slower than she would have liked and wheezing and groaning when she moved too fast or bent awkwardly. But in the end, she managed it, somehow, though the bandaging was shoddy work and already slipping – she wished, not for the first time, that she could use her magic. But that was still not an option.

Her heart sank at the thought.

Eventually, when it became evident that Gandalf wasn't going to show up any time soon, Harry decided to bed down for the night. However, the moment she laid down on the thin mattress she immediately flipped onto her stomach, biting back a quiet scream as her back lit up with fire.

It was going to be a long night, she realized with dread.

* * *

When Harry awoke next, it was to the scent of something sweet and pungent, tickling her nose and demanding she turn away, her head already feeling light and slightly dizzy. Her sleep crusted eyes fluttered open a moment later, straining briefly at the sudden light before quickly adjusting through the blur.

She groaned when she attempted to move, her face half smooshed into the hard pillow, as she failed to shift onto her back – only stopping when the influx of memories hit her from the previous night, and she cringed away from the images.

Her body still ached, though not as badly as she had previously assumed it would. Moving her arms and legs with slow, methodic movements, testing the damage with caution, she found her limbs remained stiff and stressed. With a scowl, Harry managed to dig her hands under her torso to push up from the thin mattress, hissing when her joints and muscles groaned in protest.

"Ah! Finally awake, I see?" A jovial voice called from the opposite end of the room, causing Harry to falter and jerk in surprise, barely managing to catch herself from toppling off the side of the bed.

Her head whipped around and she cried out in sudden pain, her neck cracking ominously and igniting a searing pain. Her hand snapped up to clamp down over the painful area, glaring at the wizened old man perched comfortably on a wooden stool and smoking from a pipe. Harry bit down on her cheek, realizing that this must have been the scent that awoke her.

She eyed him dubiously, a familiar name floating around in her head. Gandalf, she recalled wearily, Gandalf the grey. A wizard of middle-earth. One of five.

"W-what...?" She cleared the thickness from her throat "What time is it?"

"Time?" He hummed thoughtfully "Why, it would be nearing evening now. You have slept for quite some time, though that is not unexpected."

She nodded, feeling grumpy and out of sorts. Half a day wasn't long, she has slept longer in the past, though the extend of her injures had been much worse and she had sleeping potions helping her along.

Groggily, she swung her legs over the bed, hand still pressed to her neck, and breathed out a quick and heavy sigh. She didn't know how long it had taken her to fall asleep, but she was glad she was able to sleep without interruption – though that still begs the question; "What happened to the bandages?"

With bleary eyes, Harry gazed down at the neatly tied wrapping around her right hand, smelling faintly of antiseptic. She had attempted to wrap it the night before, and it mostly fell apart the moment she began to move around, slipping down her fingers and unravelling. She had expected to find it lost within the bedsheets the moment she woke up. Yet she finds it in place, wrapped better than before and looking perfectly secure.

She couldn't have done this. Her healing and bandaging is laughable at best.

"That would have been me, Lady Harry –"

– Harry snorted in surprise. "Lady what?"

"Forgive me if I have overstepped my bounds, but when I found you, the bandages were in desperate need of replacement."

Harry opened her mouth, then closed it. Eventually she settled for shaking her head – careful not to jerk her neck – and breathed a small huff. "It's fine." She paused, before adding. "And don't call me lady. I have a name, please use it. You won't find any lady here."

Gandalf chuckled good-naturedly. "Of course, Harry."

Sighing once again, Harry ran her hand through her sleep tangled hair, only to freeze, a hazy memory dragging itself to the front of her mind. Her spirits dropped instantly, feeling the short strands of hair that brushed against her shoulders. She suddenly remembered her hair had been brutally sheered.

Scowl back in place, she turned back to the wizard. "You...don't happen to have a hair tie on you, perhaps?"

His gaze flickered to her crudely cut hair, before meeting her eyes with a solemn expression as he clicked onto her mood. "I'm afraid not."

"Right..." Harry had been banking on her magic re-growing her hair, but unfortunately that didn't seem to be an option. Scanning the small room over – quickly dismissed the idea of using bandages, she didn't know when she'd need them again – her gaze landed on the small lump next to the vanity. Her nose wrinkled briefly, but seeing no other option, and because she didn't want to try her chances of ripping up the bedsheets, she pulled herself to her feet.

Flares of pain ran the length of her legs, muscles burning from overuse, she swayed on the spot under the careful eye of Gandalf. Harry grit her teeth, ignoring how light her head had gotten, and shakily made herself toward the filthy lump.

Harry avoided looking in the mirror, already knowing how hideous she would look, and reached down to pluck up the filthy material before waddling back over to the bed, much to the amusement of Gandalf.

Releasing a deep sigh once she was sat back down, Harry turned back to the damaged article – or what little remained of her previous cloak (if it could even be considered as such). It was still caked in dirt, ash and dried blood, with various rips and tares. Beyond repair, Harry mentally summarized glumly.

Running the thin material through her fingers, she chewed on her inner cheek. It had been her summer cloak, high quality and fitted perfectly. It wasn't made to endure long journeys, or – her mind venomously pointed out – dragons and monsters. She dismissed the thought as quickly as it came, changing her focus back onto the various tares.

Deftly, she poked her fingers through one of the rips, proceeding to pull and stretch it apart until she was able to rip a long, uneven piece off. Pushing the lump off her lap and onto the floor, she gently placed the torn piece onto her lap before reaching up to begin combing her hair back – forgoing using a brush, it wouldn't be much help at this point – before wrapping it up into a pitiful example of a ponytail, using the torn piece of cloak as substitute ribbon.

It didn't turn out how she had hoped. Strands of hair already began to fall loose, which she quickly swept back up and tucked it behind her ears. It would have to last until she was able to find something more suitable, or until her magic decided it was done messing with her and grew it back. Or, as Gandalf had put the day before, until her magic had settled. She didn't know how long that would take, or if she had the patience for it.

"There are other things more worrisome, it is best not to dwell on what we have lost but rather look forward to the things yet come." said Gandalf after the short silence.

Scowling, Harry attempted to neaten the failed ponytail which continued to slope down the back of her head. "And if those 'yet to come' things are more trouble than it's worth?"

"We deal with it." He offered in a blunt tone.

Her scowl only deepened. He made it sound so simple.

Deciding to change the subject, Harry asked "When are we leaving for Rivenwell?"

"Riven _dell_ ," corrected Gandalf, to which Harry rolled her eyes "We won't be travelling until the morrow, the roads aren't safe to leave at night and in your condition, you're more liable to slow us down. It's best we wait until you've recovered a bit more and gather your energy. For now, I will be gathering last minute supplies to help us along on the road – ah, by any chance do you happen to know how to ride?"

Harry blinked stupidly, having not expected the question. She assumed he meant horses, because she hadn't come across any cars, busses or trains on her trek across middle-earth, but she had seen men galloping along the road on horseback.

When thinking about it, Harry knew she could ride horseback, though she doubted she could hold it for long periods of time. Buckbeak she had ridden and his structure was similar to a horse. The same could be said about thestrals. She also knew ridding a broom had caused her more aches than flying with Buckbeak – it couldn't be too bad.

"I'm pretty certain I can manage." She eventually said, hoping to sound confident. If Gandalf noticed her hesitance, he didn't say.

"Well then, for now It think it's time we gather some supper. You must be starving."

As if on cue, her stomach let out a growl of agreement.

* * *

The remainder of the day was spent between brief waking moments, in which Harry would tentatively inspect her injuries with the help of Gandalf who offered to reapply her bandages. He made it look easy, much to her ire. She was also mildly surprised by her lack of appetite, considering her stomach had refused to shut up. She only barely managed to eat half of the small meal that had been brought to their room, but then, she also felt incredibly sleepy. So that was how she spent her day. Sleeping, and attempting to eat, while also checking up on her wounds.

It was the next day that she began to feel a little bit like herself, though her body still felt like it had been dragged through a meat grinder, and her mood was still relatively low. She also knew today was the day that Gandalf would be escorting her to Imladris – or Rivendell, as it was supposedly commonly known as. That didn't do much for her mood either, and she didn't particularly want to leave the inn what with how ugly she felt.

Her only saving grace was when Gandalf returned once again to their room, offering her a fresh change of clothing and a long, hooded cloak. She only just managed to thank him, feeling choked up and grateful for his quick thinking.

But it was still with great reluctance did she change, dressing in the faded brown tunic and breeches and fastening up the leather boots that he had acquired for her. They were surprisingly soft, the inside appearing to be lined with gentle fur that made her toes curl pleasantly. The cloak was fastened up swiftly after that, and the hood pulled over her head to obscure her face and hair.

Harry also made sure to store the pilfered coin purse deep within her pocket, the coins within jingling dully. It was light, and she doubted it contained much. She hadn't thought to count it out, and she refused to feel guilty about it. She was desperate, and she sorely hoped it did not become a habit. And if Gandalf spoke the truth about being her guide in middle-earth, she may not even require money just yet, but if she did, she would make sure to find out where would be the best place to earn her keep.

Her first order of business was finding out how she could return home, however. Creating a life for herself in a foreign land was out of the question.

It was shortly after she had finished dressing did Gandalf usher her out of the room, and then out of the inn. Luckily it was early, and no one was around to stop and stare. Harry didn't have an accurate guess on how early it was, only knowing that the sun had just begun to crest over the horizon, sleepily rising and casting the sky in shades of deep pinks and blues. There wasn't a cloud in sight.

Shivering slightly at the crisp morning air, she pulled the cloak tighter around herself, making sure to keep up with Gandalf's long strides and ignoring the aching of her joints. The gravel crunched under her feet, and she could scarcely make out the light bleating of sheep from nearby, though she could not see any within sight.

"How long will it take us to reach Rivendell?" Harry enquired as the stables came within sight. She eyed the horses with curiosity, wondering which one she would be riding, though it became obvious the closer she got. Two of the horses on the far left had saddles, and looked as though to be carrying leather knapsacks.

One horse was a warm brown, with a brush of white near the muzzle. The other was a gentle grey, with splotches of white and black near the rump.

"By foot it would take us just over a week at normal speed, though in your poor state, I would say it would take double the amount." Harry visibly balked at that, though Gandalf wasn't paying attention to her "But by horse, it would cut that in half. Three to four days at a most."

"And I assume we will be camping?" Harry could already feel her bruises crying out in protest, her back giving her a meaningful flare of pain. Her face twisted into a grimace.

"Indeed," said Gandalf, rounding up at the stable door and swiftly opening it with a muted 'click'. "It may strain your injuries, I'm afraid. However, the sooner we arrive at Imladris, the sooner the healers can attended to you."

Harry bit down on her cheek, stepping back as the wizard guided the horses out with practiced ease before closing the stable door. He waved her over a moment later, guiding the reins into her hesitant hands. She flinched when the horse snorted, and she shot it a glare. She didn't like how it towered over her. Buckbeak was never this tall, she distantly thought.

"Are there many healers in Rivendell?"

"Of course!" Chortled Gandalf, swiftly and expertly mounting the grey horse. Harry mimicked his movements, and soon she was perched comfortably atop the horse, reins held loosely in her hands. "You will be in left in the capable hands of Lord Elrond, whom I am certain will personally see to you."

Her brow wrinkled. "I don't know who this Lord Elrond is," she harrumphed "You have not told me much of where we are going, only that there is a White Council gathering."

Harry eyed him from the corner of her eye, wondering if this wizard had a similar habit of omitting information like her previous headmaster. It would be fitting, seeing as he already had the looks down – bar the crooked nose. Gandalf's nose was long and thin, and slightly hooked. Dumbledore sported a permanent crooked nose, as though it had been broken one too many times.

He made a low noise at the back of his throat as he began to guide his horse away from the stables, causing Harry to flounder for a moment before she gave the horse a gentle, albeit hesitant, squeeze with her thighs. The horse followed her silent command easily, trailing slightly to the side of Gandalf.

Eventually, Gandalf broke the brief silence. "Imladris is the home of Lord Elrond, located west of the Misty Mountains, at the edge of a narrow gorge of the river Bruinen, where the elves reside. The Last Homely House East of the Sea."

"That...mostly means nothing to me." Harry paused, before adding "Are you talking about house-elves?"

Gandalf turned to her with a raised eyebrow. "House-elves?"

She pursed her lips, before elaborating. "They're short creatures, bald with bulging eyes and large, bat like ears. They're kind, but rather skittish." Her mind flashed back to Dobby, and a bitter smile tugged at her lips "I once had a friend that was a house-elf. He was very brave."

She didn't notice Gandalf frowning, a flash of confusion flickering across his face. "You describe goblins, Miss Harry."

It was Harry's turn to look confused, and she turned to look back at Gandalf, who had already turned away to watch the road. "Yes...I suppose you could say the elves are similar in appearance, though there are obvious differences. Goblins are...nastier, their noses pointer and their nails sharper. They're also more stumpy, and are often tricky and mistrustful. But goblins offer impressive security in storing valuables in their vaults – though it's no surprise, they have an almost insatiable lust for gold and precious stones, and love to horde it, even if it is simply to protect and guard wizarding money."

Gandalf had turned back to look at Harry, this time both eyebrows had receded back into his hairline, obvious surprise coloring his withered face. "And now you describe dwarves."

It was Harry's turn to look surprised. "Surely not," she said "Though I'm afraid I don't know much about dwarves, other than my... _recent_ run in with them." She fought back a grimace "The dwarves from my er, homeland, there isn't much information on them. Or, information I hadn't thought to enquire about. Though there are a few speculations that they had receded somewhere to a distant land, hidden safely under strong enchantments so that no one can enter." As an afterthought, she grumbly added "I met a few when I was twelve, it wasn't a pleasant experience."

Gandalf made a snorting noise, idly reaching up to stroke his beard. "Indeed," he quietly muttered "There is much that we do not know about each other – or rather, there is much difference between your homeland and middle-earth. I am curious to hear more, I'm sure it will make our journey that much swifter, if you are willing?"

It wouldn't occur to Harry until later that Gandalf had expertly changed the subject, diverting her curious questions and quietly fishing for information.

But for now...

"What would you like to know?"

* * *

Harry remembered her time camping in the Forest of Dean, and while it wasn't overly pleasant, it was much better than her current situation. At the time, she had a charmed camping tent (thanks to Hermione) and an actual bed to sleep in, as well as erected wards to protect her from danger. This time around, it felt oddly primitive compared to the magical comforts of her home, and not very comfortable. As well as the beaten state of her body, it made it near difficult to fall asleep.

Gandalf was having no problem, having situated himself against the roots of a towering tree, close to where the horses were resting. His pointed had sloped downward, obscuring his eyes, though Harry got the impression that he wasn't sleeping. Perhaps he was simply deep in thought, which didn't surprise her, considering the info dump she had laid on him earlier.

Their conversation throughout the day spanned a wide variety of topics. Ranging from magical creatures to spells and charms. They had briefly touched upon the subject of transfiguration and potions. Harry was about to give a brief overview of defensive magic when he decided to stop for the day to set up camp, situating themselves just off the road they had been traveling and into a small open wooded area where the trees stood tall, obscuring the inky night sky through the thick canopy. The only light came from their small campfire, casting long, dancing shadows.

Currently, Harry was huddled up near the fire, wrapped around a thick blanket and attempting to find a moment of rest. But no matter how hard she tried to shut her eyes and sleep, her bruises would cry out otherwise. And with her slightly paranoid mind, she found it exceedingly difficult to relax. She was used to being hidden under wards, safety tucked away inside a tent. Without that, there was the constant feeling of exposure, as if she were stripped naked.

She grit her teeth. Gandalf had informed her that their travel should be relatively safe – though they may encounter bandits, or otherwise unsavory folk. He didn't elaborate further on that, and Harry didn't question it, already gathering the gist of what he meant. But that also left a lingering thought floating inside her head, and an unpleasant image to accompany it.

"Gandalf?" She called after clearing her throat, to which the wizard twitched, and she took this as incentive to continue. "You said we may encounter bandits, right?" There was a slight nod "But what about those other things?"

A pause.

"Other things?" He asked, gently lifting his head to he could meet her searching gaze.

She wrapped the blanket tighter around herself. "Before I found that town, I was travelling alone and I was lost, stumbling through the forest. I saw something horrible." She inhaled deeply, recalling bloodied fingernails and deformed faces and snarling yellow teeth. "I don't think they were human, and I tried to run away..." She trailed off, nose scrunched up and lips pursed.

"Ah," said Gandalf, as if understanding "I think you may be referring to orcs."

"Orcs?" She slowly tested the name on her tongue, finding it unfamiliar. "I've never heard of those before."

"It would appear so," Gandalf inclined his head in her direction "I take it this is where you received your injuries from?"

She shook her head. "No, not all of them. Though they did deal me quite a bit of damage. A few new bruises and cuts and...my hair," her expression darkened, face twisting into a snarl "I didn't even see them coming, it was like they just appeared. They managed to grab me on more than one occasion, I was only so lucky that I managed to accidently apparate away."

"Apparate?"

"It's...like instantaneous teleportation. But for it to work, you need to know where you're going – and in this case, I didn't. I managed to give myself a bit of distance, but they still gave chase. I don't know when I lost them, I just kept running."

She decided not to mention that she hadn't been able to apparate since.

Gandalf remained silent with a pensive expression, and Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"Are all orcs like this?" She eventually asked, turning her gaze down to her lap and idly begun to pick the lint from the blanket. She was half curious and half dreading his answer. "Are there many?" She added, her stomach coiling in fear at the thought. She had no way to defend herself, wandless and with zero experience in fighting without her magic.

Gandalf suddenly sat up straight and replied, his voice grave and slow, cutting through her thoughts. "Orcs are the scourge upon this land, unfeeling, cold and want for nothing more than to sow their own discord and bloodshed. There is no such thing as a 'good orc', you must remember this. Their numbers are admittedly and unfortunately great, and there is little we can do other than draw them back into the dark holes they have crawled out of." He paused, contemplating his next words, before continuing, his voice soft and gentle "I cannot guarantee that you will never encounter them in future, but know that there is safety to where we are heading. It is not often that orcs travel so far out, so the likelihood of encountering them on the road are relatively slim – it is best we keep careful, in the meantime."

Silence descended upon them, and Harry didn't know what to say. Her mind carefully blank thanks to her occlumency shields, though the knot of unease still rested in her stomach. She had no other choice than to trust Gandalf, despite only knowing him for a few short days. She felt inclined to believe him, however, she wondered if this stemmed from the fact he resembled Dumbledore. He gave her the same feeling of protection, warmth and comfort.

It was very possible that he was leading her on, she admitted, and if that was the case then she was completely blind to it. Harry could easily get up and start walking, if she decided to. She doubted he would have stopped her.

She huffed through her nose and brought her knees up to her chest, burying her face in them. Her only wish was that Gandalf didn't abuse her trust.

"Bah, such dark thoughts at this hour!" suddenly snapped Gandalf, causing Harry to jerk up, her gaze meeting the disapproving frown Gandalf now sported. He wagged his finger in her direction, and Harry blinked in surprise. "Let your mind rest for now, it will do you no good in the coming days."

"...If you say so?" She hesitantly replied.

Gandalf harrumphed. "Good. Now tell me more about this patronus charm you mentioned earlier," he gestured idly with his hands "You say it is a projection of positive emotions to keep the darkness at bay? Yes?"

Harry blinked once again, silently wondering if this was his way of changing the subject and an attempt to cheer her up. Her lip twitched, and she nodded slowly. "Essentially, that is what it does. Dark creatures are often frightened of it, and will flee when within the presence."

He stroked his long beard, looking thoughtful and curious. "And are all those from your homeland capable of creating this patronus?"

She laughed lightly, her body relaxing and she shook her head. "Oh, how I wish! But no, unfortunately not. Only those with uncorrupt hearts can cast the charm, but even then, it is considered a rare or uncommon ability and only those with especially strong, happy memories can cast the corporal form of the patronus."

"Fascinating," exhaled Gandalf, looking suddenly delighted "And I assume you are able to do this?"

Harry beamed brightly, nodding proudly. "I've been told I'm one of the youngest witches to ever cast a corporal patronus," she elaborated "It's one of my strongest spells."

"Wonderful," chuckled Gandalf "And I assume there is another variation of this patronus?"

"You would be correct. There is corporal and non-corporal. A corporal patronus takes the shape of the animal that the person casting has a deep affinity toward. Non-corporal is nothing but a pale imitation of the patronus, similar with its effects though not as powerful."

"And you say you can cast the former?" Enquired Gandalf.

She nodded once again, lip quirking up. "Yes. I'm assuming you want to know which animal I have an affinity toward?" Gandalf eagerly nodded, gesturing for her to continue, causing her smile to stretch wider. "It's a stag. The same as my father, actually." Harry coyly stated, smiling softly.

"Wonderful indeed," he breathed softly, continuing to absentmindedly stoke his beard "Perhaps when your magic has settled itself, we can mayhap test this charm?"

Her smile faltered, and she was quickly brought back to the present. "It wouldn't hurt to try, but unfortunately wandless magic is incredibly difficult to master, it may take some time and I don't know how long I will be here."

"...Yes, I... suppose you are correct." Harry was given the impression that Gandalf was disappointed.

There was silence for a moment, save only from the crackling of the campfire and the occasional hooting of owls, the snuffling of nearby woodland creatures and the gentle caress of the wind that rustled the leaves of the towering trees. Harry shifted around in her blanket, chewing on her cheek and, finally, deciding to lay down on her side as to not aggravate her injuries.

It really wasn't comfortable.

"I think I'm starting to feel tired." she murmured.

"It would be best to gather as much sleep as you can, Miss Harry," sagely replied Gandalf "Rest now, we will speak in the morn."

Her eyes fluttered shut.


End file.
